


Serendipity

by HolmesianDeduction



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Book Borrowing, Books, Flirting, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Reading, Well sort of flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 04:50:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolmesianDeduction/pseuds/HolmesianDeduction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre offers an at-his-wit's-end Jean Prouvaire the use of his private reading room, and Jehan happily accepts.  To both men's surprise, everything else just sort of falls into place.</p><p>[My half of an art trade with the always fantastic <a href="http://perplexingly.tumblr.com/">Marta</a>]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serendipity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [perplexingly.tumblr.com](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=perplexingly.tumblr.com).



             Combeferre had not planned on this when he first offered the use of his sitting room to Jean Prouvaire. They had been, as they often were, in the back room of the Café Musain when he had overheard the poet in conversation with Courfeyrac, complaining of too much noise outside of his rooms making it impossible to focus. He had, almost surprising himself as much as them, smoothly interjected and offered the use of his sitting room.

             “It’s quite well-lit,” he had heard himself explaining, “and quiet – my rooms are very out of the way.”

             He had ignored Courfeyrac’s questioning eyebrow in favour of the way that Jehan’s grin seemed to take up half his face, and the way that his delicate fingers played with his cravat as he thanked him and inquired as to the address and what times would be acceptable for him to visit. Combeferre had simply said that his door was open to him any time that he was home, and Jehan had beamed at him before leaving him and Courfeyrac to hold court with Enjolras as was the usual procedure after a meeting.

 

             The first few times that Prouvaire showed up on Combeferre’s doorstep, nothing of any note happened. Combeferre went about his business as usual – even stepping out a few times, with the request that should he leave, Jehan was to lock the door behind him, but upon his return, the poet was always where he had been left, though sometimes with a different book than the one he had been reading upon Combeferre’s departure. Sometimes he stayed late into the evening, careful not to bother Combeferre’s own studies with his own, and if he was honest with himself, it had only been a matter of time before Combeferre presented him with his own key.

             From that point on, Jehan became a constant fixture in Combeferre’s sitting room, showing up just after breakfast and sometimes staying until late in the evening, his nose buried in whatever text he was most interested in at the time. While it was strange at first, coming in at varying hours to find the other man still curled up on his sofa or in one of his armchairs, that too became routine, even comfortable in time.

             It began with Goethe. Jehan had been pacing while reading – a rare occurrence, but one which was always a precursor to passionate outbursts and commentary spoken aloud. This had taken time for him to adjust to, perhaps more than anything else, but like all other things about Jehan, it had acquired a certain charm. Usually, Combeferre didn’t respond to him beyond quiet hums of acknowledgement or nods, but this time had been different. It had begun with a short passage from _Faust_ and a comment on how he imagined Goethe must view scientific progress, which, under most circumstances, would have only evoked a small smile, hidden behind his hand or whatever Combeferre was reading – or would have, had he not been referring to Goethe.

             He wasn’t sure what exactly sent him into action, but the words came almost unbidden to his lips, and before either of them properly understood what was happening, he had launched into an explanation of Goethe’s scientific works, both its strengths and its flaws and how it related to the ideas expressed in the relevant passage. It wasn’t until he had stopped for breath that he noticed that Jehan had ceased pacing and was staring at him with an entirely rapt expression usually reserved for Enjolras’ more inspired outbursts, or for the pair of rooks that had taken to nesting in the tree outside of his window rather than with the rest of their colony. There was a silence that seemed to stretch on forever until finally, Jehan spoke up, words leaving his lips in a single breath.

             “I didn’t know Goethe had such an extensive reach.” He dropped into a chair on the other side of the desk and leaned in close, his forearms almost touching the edge of Combeferre’s book. “This changes _everything_.”

             Without even thinking about it, Combeferre pushed his anatomical manual to the side and allowed himself to lean forward almost close enough to meet the other man in the middle before continuing. By the time they paused again, it was nearly midnight, and as they stood, Jehan dug for a scrap of paper.

             “I want to write down the titles you mentioned – perhaps I can procure copies…”

             “I have them.”

             Jehan looked up and blinked owlishly for a moment. “Both of them?”

             “Both.” Crossing to a shelf, Combeferre retrieved two volumes, each carefully handled and placed them in Jehan’s hands. “ _The Metamorphosis of Plants_ and _Theory of Colours_.”

             Looking down at the books in his hands and then back up at Combeferre, Jehan opened his mouth, but the other shook his head. “Just bring them back and be careful with them – they’re very dear to me.”

             Nothing could have prepared him for the expression that spread over Jehan’s face as he beamed up at him, and certainly nothing in his experience would have prepared him for the other man leaning up and kissing the corner of his mouth before all but skipping out the door with the books tucked carefully against his chest.

 

             Despite Combeferre’s insistence that he take the books home, Jehan spent the majority of his time reading them in Combeferre’s home, eventually admitting sheepishly that his noisy neighbours had been turned out, but that he preferred the other’s company while reading, and though he only responded with a small smile, Combeferre couldn’t help but be silently pleased.

             So he admitted to himself that he should not have been all that surprised to find himself seated far from his desk on one end of a worn sofa with Jehan’s reclined next to him, the back of his head resting against Combeferre’s side as he read. Crossing his leg over his knee, he still managed to adjust and immerse himself in his own reading, his fingers only occasionally straying into the other man’s hair.

             It wasn’t until it was already quite late that he glanced down and realised that Jehan had fallen asleep, curled up against his side, book closed at his chest with a finger holding his place, and sighing, he carefully pulled the book from Jehan’s grip, setting it on the table along with his own before settling back against the cushions and removing his glasses to rub his eyes. Setting them down, a soft sigh escaped his lips, and then he caught himself pressing a barely-there kiss into the poet’s hair before leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

 

             It was weeks later when Jehan awoke in the middle of the night and immediately sat up while his eyes adjusted to the darkness in an effort to discern where he was. He was not in the practise of waking up anywhere apart from his own home, or perhaps Combeferre’s reading room, and so it was not until there was a slight stirring of the sheets next to him and a sleepy, incoherent murmur next to him that his muscles relaxed as he realised where he was. Allowing himself to glance over, Jehan couldn’t prevent himself from smiling at the sight of Combeferre asleep beside him.

             He hadn’t, he had to remind himself, set out to sleep with the other man. It had been another late night in the reading room and outside it had been pouring down rain, and on what seemed to him a whim, Combeferre had insisted that Jehan use his bed for the night, maintaining that he would sleep on the sofa or in a chair. Summoning his courage, Jehan had in turn insisted that Combeferre instead share the bed with him. He had blinked owlishly at the suggestion at first, but then allowed himself to be led into his own bedroom, and now here they were.

             Leaning on his elbow, Jehan allowed himself to press his face into Combeferre’s hair, a faint smile slipping onto his features before he settled back down onto his side, one arm slipping over the other man’s waist.

              _Sometimes_ , he thought to himself, _I suppose things just fall together without anyone really trying._


End file.
